unnumbered woes To Chloris and to Heaven is wont to rise. And when the light of day returning dyes The portals of the east with tints of rose, With undiminished force my sorrow flows In broken accents and in burning sighs. And when the sun ascends his star-girt throne, And on the earth pours down his midday beams, Noon but renews my wailing and my tears; And with the night again goes up my moan. Yet ever in my agony it seems To me that neither Heaven nor Chloris hears.”
The sonnet pleased Camilla, and still more Anselmo, for he praised it and said the lady was excessively cruel who made no return for sincerity so manifest. On which Camilla said, “Then all that love-smitten poets say is true?”
“As poets they do not tell the truth,” replied Lothario; “but as lovers they are not more defective in expression than they are truthful.”
“There is no doubt of that,” observed Anselmo, anxious to support and uphold Lothario’s ideas with Camilla, who was as regardless of his design as she was deep in love with Lothario; and so taking delight in anything that was his, and knowing that his thoughts and writings had her for their object, and that she herself was the real Chloris, she asked him to repeat some other sonnet or verses if he recollected any.
“I do,” replied Lothario, “but I do not think it as good as the first one, or, more correctly speaking, less bad; but you can easily judge, for it is this.
“I know that I am doomed; death is to me As certain as that thou, ungrateful fair, Dead at thy feet shouldst see me lying, ere My heart repented of its love for thee. If buried in oblivion I should be, Bereft of life, fame, favour, even there It would be found that I thy image bear Deep graven in my breast for all to see. This like some holy relic do I